


Everything Where It Belongs

by innerslytherin



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:03:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerslytherin/pseuds/innerslytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-war, non-DH-compliant - Remus has the perfect life, and he hates himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Where It Belongs

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Nine Inch Nails song "Right Where It Belongs".

He cuts himself shaving one morning.  That's what starts it all.

*****

She gets up before him every morning to cook his breakfast.  It's an anomaly, because she refuses to cook aside from that, but she seems to enjoy fixing his toast and coffee and eggs.  She jokes about spilling the coffee and burning things, but his breakfast is always ready when he sits down at the table.

She got him a job at the Ministry.  It's only handling requisitions and managing the stores for the experimenters in the Department of Dirty Tricks, but it's regular work, and the Weasley Twins already know he's a werewolf, so there's no trouble there.  He gets two days off at the full moon and works extra hours to make up for them.

She's got Molly Weasley helping her with the wedding plans.  After all, Molly has married off four of her children now, so she ought to know how it's done.  And really, they wouldn't even be together without Molly and her persuasive and understanding nature.  It's the least they could do, to let her plan their wedding.

Remus doesn't meet his own gaze in the mirror these days.

 

*****

 

He has been hailed as a war hero, as the pseudo-godfather of Harry Potter, the last of Harry's parents' friends, the man who stepped into Dumbledore's shoes to lead the Order to victory.  He has been feted and toasted and written up in _Witch Weekly_.  He has been given the Order of Merlin, Second Class, and given a tour of the new Lycanthropy Research Ward at St Mungo's.

He knows better.

What Remus is is a coward.  What Remus did was grasp for something stable when the bottom fell out of his world.  What Remus does is tell a kind, willing young woman that he "doesn't feel like it tonight" more times than not, and closes his eyes when she sucks him off, because he can pretend it's someone else.  What Remus knows is that somewhere, someone is still fighting the demons of his past and yearning for forgiveness.  What Remus believes is that he is no longer worthy to be the man to give that forgiveness.

He gets up every morning and has a shower, shaves, puts on a tie and business robes, and spends his day receiving items and filling requisitions.  He leaves the Ministry and goes to the pub every evening--not the Leaky Cauldron, no--a pub called the Lame Crup, halfway down Knockturn Alley.  He drinks until he can't remember dark eyes that warm only for him, until he can't remember thin lips that softened only for him, until he can't remember he once had a lover who meant everything to him.  A lover he has abandoned.

 

*****

 

He tells her he's still dealing with the war.  He tells her living with the werewolf pack was hard, horrible, evil.  He tries to forget the terrible freedom he found only with the pack.

And she makes sympathetic noises and turns her hair bright pink to amuse him and never understands why he won't laugh, why he never laughs anymore.  He has heard her telling Hermione this, when they think he's busy in his study.  _He smiles, but it's a thin smile, it doesn't reach his eyes_, Tonks whispers, and Hermione whispers back, _Ron has nightmares, sometimes two or three every night_, and they both think Remus is a tragic martyr for the cause.

 

*****

 

He cuts himself shaving one morning.  He has been avoiding his own gaze in the mirror for weeks, months, he isn't sure how long.  He dabs on the shaving cream with his eyes averted, watching the strokes of the badger-hair brush against his jaw, watching the white of his knuckles as his hand moves.  And then, with the straight razor pressed against his jaw, a flicker in the mirror catches his eye, and quite by accident he lifts his gaze.

Gold meets gold.

His stare is dull, flat.  Empty.

He remembers how one word from that acerbic voice could bring those eyes to life.  He remembers how hot his gaze felt when he gazed at the lanky body stretched across his bed.  He remembers how potion-stained fingers caressed his eyelids and massaged his temples after the full.

His hand twitches; a few heartbeats later pain flares across his skin.

He averts his eyes quickly, but the damage is done.  He watches as blood drips down into the sink, the crimson spiralling down languidly.  His face hurts, and suddenly he laughs.  It is the first true thing he's felt in far too long.

He wipes his face with a flannel and lets the water out of the sink.  He folds the razor carefully and tucks it into his pocket.  He picks up his wand from the bedside table.

He doesn't leave a note.  He doesn't leave any clues.  He doesn't leave anything he values.

Remus Lupin walks out of his safe life.


End file.
